


One of Those Days

by FancyMeetingYouHere



Category: GOT7
Genre: Barista Jackson, Fluff, M/M, Shy mark, all the weird and sarcasm, silly thing, very shy Mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23820790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyMeetingYouHere/pseuds/FancyMeetingYouHere
Summary: Mark needs coffee. Jackson is a barista.The interaction should be relatively easy, but where would be the fun in that.
Relationships: Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Comments: 30
Kudos: 85





	One of Those Days

Morning classes are evil, morning lectures are worse, but morning exams are simply hell on earth. The system is devised to torture students, Mark is sure. He just spent three hours scribbling too many words to count onto four pages, front and back, his head is pounding from the abuse and it’s barely noon. He stifles a yawn in his hands, burrowing deeper into his baby-blue sweater because it’s the only comfort he has in this morning from hell.

That, and his soon to be overly priced cup of coffee that he’s been yearning since halfway through his previous torture. Luckily, there’s a Starbucks a mere minute away, conveniently located for all those who are sleep-deprived and caffeine dependent if they want to save their grades.

Mark, for just this once, is one of them.

The line shuffles forward, dozens of voices chattering around him while he’s focused on the floor. He already knows what he wants, thought it over as he came here, and now stands fighting a numbing fatigue. It’s why he doesn’t immediately notice when the person in front of him veers left.

A voice pipes up a little too loud to be normal. “What would you like?”

He blinks up blearily. Frowning because he’d honestly been about to fall asleep while standing up, then proceeds to have a system shutdown in the face of world’s cutest smile.

The barista is cute. How is he so cute? His smile is almost a flat line, eyes dark and crescent shaped. Mark stops functioning. No one should be allowed to look cute _and hot, holy fuck look at his arms._ Those muscles must be fake, bulging without a care under long black sleeves.

Mark swallows. He was here to do something. Something _not_ related to drinking in the impossible beauty of ‘Jackson’ the barista. Only then Mark’s attention is stuck on the nametag, more importantly, the apron that the nametag is attached too because it hangs a little low and shows off some serious pecks happening under that thin cloth.

Mark positively gulps. _Holy shit._

“Sir?”

Mark snaps his eyes up. Did he just get caught ogling someone’s chest? He feels it’s not entirely his fault, the green apron and black shirt simply match gorgeously, and Jackson’s face might be the cutest thing Mark’s ever seen. How exactly was he supposed to stay normal when presented with all _this_ while in a state of perpetually sleep-deprived?

The barista (Jackson, dear god, Mark loves how that name sounds) blinks at him cutely. “Do you want to order something?” 

Simply saying ‘you’ is probably too forward, though Mark wonders if casually going ‘how about your phone-number’ will still get him kicked out of the store. Then again, doing either of those things will require actual speech, as in, his mouth must open and produce sound, but Mark is still trying to start up his brain. Jackson is just really good-looking, okay. He’d totally be flirting with this hot barista if he hadn’t been blind-sided with this situation, and possibly wasn’t the shyest person on the planet.

Whoops.

After too many awkward seconds during which a heartfelt groan from behind Mark makes sure he knows just how much he’s bothering the other customers, he manages to kickstart his vocal cords. What comes out, however, is not the suave ‘I’ll have whatever you think is best’ he was aiming for. It’s more of a breathy mumble that barely constitutes for talking.

“Help.”

It’s also not an order. Nope. Because that would mean Mark would be a functioning human being. Which, as the current burning of his cheeks is proving, he’s really not.

The fact that Jackson only keeps smiling at him, face so painfully sincere it almost hurts to look at it, isn’t helping Mark’s campaign in the slightest. Hot boys are a weakness of his, as are awkward social situations. Throw them together and Mark’s mind becomes mush, nothing but high-pitched screaming present in his head. It’s not particularly helpful when you don’t want the hot barista to know you’re unable to human.

On a completely unrelated note, guess how Mark’s day is going?

Jackson’s smile gains a hint of confusion, his nose scrunching up in the most adorable way any brown-haired hunk of a god- _guy_ , has ever done. Why must this happen when Mark is working on two hours of sleep and has no black, happy-juice in his system.

Too-cute-to-be-real cocks his head. “Do you need help ordering?”

Mark nods, then flushes all over again as he was _supposed_ to shake his head. The damage has been done. Eternal embarrassment better reserve a place for Mark Yien Tuan, world’s most awkward human being. Despite all the odds stacked against him, which are quite a heap in all honesty, Jackson smiles relieved.

“Do you want coffee?” he asks sweetly, plucking a medium sized cup from the stack next to him. His smile widens when Mark nods again and, by the lords, is he _actually_ managing a semi-normal interaction?

“A medium cappuccino with extra whipped cream it is!” Jackson announces, then adds a wink. “Who’s it for?”

Now the guy’s just rubbing it in. Mark had been fine, really truly, he had been, until that damn _wink._ Was the inability to produce a word not enough of a warning sign to this walking and talking piece of perfection that Mark is _incapable_ of handling his gorgeous ass. (Both literally and metaphorically, can you just _imagine_ what this guy must look like under his clothes…) But no, of _course_ he had to throw in a wink. No self-respecting barista would ever pass up the opportunity of embarrassing the mute boy in the over-sized sweater.

Mark’s brain still scrambles for an answer, for anything that can pass as a name because it seems he’s forgotten his real one.

Jackson’s face falls when Mark takes more than two seconds, more agitated huffing and clearing-of-throats happening in the ever-lengthening que. “Or can you not talk in public?” Jackson asks with the most concern anyone has ever shown Mark, his parents included. “Is that a problem and am I just being really rude?” He honestly looks so devastated at the prospect of having crossed some sort of wholly imaginary boundary that Mark melts all over again. The current half-pout on Jackson’s face is begging to be kissed away, though Mark possesses enough common-sense to know that _that’s_ going a bit far. Mind him, that’s still not much.

“Tuan!” he finally manages. He imagines patting himself on the back for a) using at least part of his real name, and b) saying it loud enough the other can hear. Although Jackson’s small jump might indicate it was a little too loud, but there’s something utterly endearing about the buff boy with the face of an angel flinching with a cute spasm of his arms and Mark isn’t sure about the amount of time needed to develop a crush, but he’d like to challenge science no matter the answer and say that he has one.

Jackson’s startled gasp does things to Mark’s insides and suddenly his hoodie is a little warm.

The cup is passed on to the left after Jackson’s done which prompts Mark to hold out his hand with a proud smile. He instantly loses it when he realizes he’s simply presenting a highly confused Jackson with a blue sweater-paw, and quickly pushes his other hand in the boy’s face. Only now he’s just handed Jackson his entire wallet, money still firmly locked inside and Mark isn’t sure what number he's at, but he’d been almost convinced there can only be so many ways you can humiliate yourself in front of a new crush before the universe intervenes. It seems, in Mark’s case, that the universe is much too busy eating its popcorn and cackling to be of any assistance.

In retrospect the exam doesn’t seem so bad compared to much-too-hot-to-be-cute-but-look-at-that-smile Jackson gingerly picking up his wallet and barely peeking inside before pulling out a note. He’s in the process of counting out the change when Mark’s brain finally makes a comeback, though he imagines his face is currently as red as Jackson’s hair looks soft.

“Keep the change,” he croaks, not even surprised his voice cracks and simply taking the gift of being able to formulate a sentence. It’s progress. Sort of.

Jackson thanks him with another luminous smile, then directs him to the side. “It’ll be right out.”

There’s barely time to give Jackson a nod of thanks in return, though he’d been trying to say the words as well. Unfortunately, the woman behind him practically pushes him out of the way, nasally voice rattling off an obviously memorized order as she waves an agitated hand. Mark takes the hint and shuffles along, absentmindedly rubbing his arm where the woman pushed her freakishly pointy elbow into a sore spot. He may have bumped it on the doorframe yesterday – correction, this morning – when he was stumbling around to get to the bathroom.

Though in all fairness, she may have just saved Mark from what would have certainly become disastrous if allowed to continue, meaning he might even owe her a thank you.

Yeah, no. There’s been enough talking-to-strangers for one day. Mark is going to stand in line, attempt to disappear into this hoodie because by _fuck_ does he want to get out of here, and retrieve his cappuccino which he’d intended to be a mocha frap. Oh well. Take your losses and all that. Or, more accurately, suck it up because Mark was doomed the second he looked Jackson in the eye.

When his treacherous eyes flit back to look at Jackson dealing admirably with the agitated woman and even managing to make his apology sincere enough she winds down, Mark glowers at the floor and scuffs his foot.

Utterly, utterly doomed.

**Author's Note:**

> I had too much fun writing this while being insanely unsatisfied with everything else I've written this past week (hence the slow updates) so I wanted to share and hope someone else can get some joy out of it.
> 
> (Also, just for funsies, if you could leave a comment that'd be great, and lemme know your level of functioning human being, pretty please!! (I'm mostly Mark, sometimes Jackson) Thank you!!)
> 
> (Second also: this is dedicated to one of my best friends who, bless her heart, is an even bigger disaster than Mark. This one's for you, sunshine.)


End file.
